


15 Reasons

by Dominatrix



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt, M/M, Romance, This is FAR too painful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 22:24:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominatrix/pseuds/Dominatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has fifteen reasons to leave Sherlock. But only one is true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	15 Reasons

He stared at the paper in front of him. The pen was trembling in his hand. He had to do this. But he didn’t want to. Slowly, almost hesitating he started to write down the heading on top of the lined paper.

15 Reasons I can’t stay with you.

John didn’t know why it had to be 15, not 17, not three. 15. It seemed a good number to rip his life apart.

_1\. You’re not good for me._

He knew it was a lie. He had been depressed, even suicidal, before he had met Sherlock. Now he felt more alive than ever.

_2\. I’m not good for you, either._

Sherlock had stopped taking drugs, started to talk when something bothered him. He ate regularly and sometimes he even tried to be nice to Lestrade.

_3\. We would just rip each other’s hearts out._

Maybe they would. But him leaving would only speed up this process.

_4\. It was never made to last._

Which love was, really?

5\. _All of my friends would leave me._

It was the cliché. _Former soldier discovers his true self and is left behind by all his oh-so-manly comrades._ But it wasn’t like this. He didn’t have friends. He had Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade. Stapleton. Molly. None of them would care too much.

 _6._ _We’re not alike._

Lie. Simple, plain lie. John crossed it out and replaced it.

 _~~6\. We’re not alike.~~ _ _We’re far too similar._

Yes. That was true. They were both haunted, in some kind of way, and they both knew that they could easily destroy the other person in the blink of an eye. Not that they would ever do this. But they could. They knew each other all too well. In the end, John’s fear of being left behind had never vanished completely. He was completely aware that Sherlock’s genius mind could figure out at least fifteen ways to make John suffer. Just as John did right now.

_7\. Someday you will kill us. Both of us, because an experiment went wrong._

Another lie. Sherlock had always tried to blow them up, poison them or set their flat on fire. Without really trying though. And mostly the harm had restricted on Sherlock only, because he didn’t allow John to get near anything which could be dangerous.

_8\. My family would never understand._

With a lesbian daughter and a son that voluntarily lived in a flat with a man most therapists would consider a threat for mankind. Yes, they would be in _huge_ shock.

_9\. Yours would only pretend to._

He had never got to know the famous “Mummy” Holmes, but due to her sons John doubted that she would be upset by anything Sherlock could do which didn’t involve murder or suicide. Well, probably not even that.

_10\. It’s too hard to face the world with you._

John really should stop lying to himself. It didn’t matter, did it? What he was thinking of himself? Why was he trying to find reasons why Sherlock and he could never be together, although it was perfectly obvious that they were meant to be? He could easily give himself the answer. He tried to distance himself so it wouldn’t hurt so bad.

_11\. I see the battlefield when I walk next to you._

Mycroft had told John that he missed the war. He didn’t. He still was terrified when the nightmares came haunting him in the darkness. It didn’t happen every night, but sometimes he awoke gasping, covered in cold sweat, on the edge of losing himself. He really did not miss the war. But he had missed sharing this horror with a warm body next to him. This body was Sherlock, and John knew that Sherlock knew. He knew what demons chased him because he had seen them. Because John had told him often enough, still shaking in fear, while Sherlock embraced him and caressed him softly.

_12\. I can’t handle a life like this. I need steadiness._

But he had steadiness. Solving cases. Cleaning Sherlock’s mess. Hiding the cigarettes when Sherlock had a weak day. Snuggling up in his arms at night. John had never been steadier. Well, yes, he had after he had returned from Afghanistan. _Wake up. Ignore the pain. Try to convince yourself your nightmares weren’t real. Therapy. Just a waste of time_. Still has trust issues _. Of course. Back to own place. Try to get your eyes off the gun on your desk. It would be too easy. Go to sleep, know what will await you in your sleep._ This wasn’t the kind of steadiness he was searching for.

_13\. They’ll always have something in their hands to threaten you. Me._

He didn’t know who exactly _they_ were, but John assumed that there would always be people who wanted to see Sherlock suffer. Maybe Mycroft wouldn’t kidnap John to move his brother to do something. But there were enough terror cells in the world, enough people that wanted to watch the world burn so they could feel warm inside. So there actually was a hint of truth in this point, although John knew that it was crucial of him to play on Sherlock’s weakest point. The fear of losing John.

_14\. We both know it wouldn’t have worked._

And here comes the next lie. John had thought that it had to get easier, that every lie to comfort Sherlock, to give him a reason to hate John because this was the worst way to leave - in the middle of the night, without a word, sneaking out like a criminal. But each lie hurt just as much as the one before had. In the beginning, it had felt strange for both of them. For John because he had never been with a man. For Sherlock because he had never been with anybody before. But they had managed. Somehow they had figured out how to actually do this. And it had worked out perfectly. Well, as perfectly as you would expect the relationship of a sociopath who talks to his skull more than to his boyfriend when he’s upset and an “I’m not actually gay” doctor with PTSD to be. But for what was given them, they had worked out pretty well.

_15\. I love you too much to see you fall apart._

There it was. The final reason, the only reason that was really true. He knew that although Sherlock loved him (well, John assumed he did), he still was a ticking time-bomb. Someday he would freak out, without John being able to stop him. He was afraid of this. Heavily. Terrified by the thought of losing him just like he had lost everybody else that had ever mattered to him.

Because he knew that this time he wouldn’t get up again. There wouldn’t be a man to turn his world upside down just by being there. Because Sherlock Holmes would be dead, maybe because of a terror cell, or maybe because of unfortunate circumstances, or because he had searched a way to stop being bored and it had all turned wrong. There were far too many possibilities John’s heart would be ripped in a thousand pieces.

With a heavy sigh he folded the sheet of paper, put it in an envelope and put it down on the bed, on his pillow, where his head used to be. He had not made the effort to write Sherlock’s name on the envelope. Sherlock would know who it was addressed to the second he would wake up and find that nobody was lying next to him.

 

“I’m sorry” John whispered before he planted a soft kiss on Sherlock’s tangled, dark hair and closed the door behind him. With slow, measured steps but shaking knees and aching lungs he walked down the stairs, always shifting his weight on the crutch in his left hand. He would need it in the future, he was sure about that.

He had left his keys on the table in the living room before he had stepped out of Sherlock’s life.

There was no chance he would ever be coming back again.


End file.
